


And There Was Color

by ShipThePuppy



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Angst?, Colors au, Fluff, M/M, Originally Posted to Tumblr, PLEASE NOTE THAT I'VE CHOSEN NOT TO USE ARCHIVE WARNINGS, Sad?, Soulmates, This is a Repost so that I can have all my stories on the same account, mostly happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 14:19:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7687774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShipThePuppy/pseuds/ShipThePuppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(An AU where people are born seeing in black and white, but upon meeting their soul mate gain color-vision.)</p><p>Akashi Seijuurou was prepared for life without a soulmate; he'd been born with his colors, after all. And then Furihata Kouki came along, insisting otherwise.</p><p>Or: In which finding your soulmate is exactly as difficult as you’d imagine.</p><p>(THIS IS A REPOST TO GET ALL MY STUFF ON THE SAME ACCOUNT. I WILL BE DELETING THE OTHER COPY.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	And There Was Color

**Author's Note:**

> Again, this is a repost!
> 
> Don't let this story fool you though, I mostly write fluffy fluff fluff.

 

*****

_The day we met I adored you._

*****

Akashi Seijuurou was born knowing that fate had not assigned him a soul mate. From the moment of his birth he had always had his colors.  His vision had been checked as all infants’ were, and the discovery that he didn’t see in the black and white of all humans before spotting their soul mates had been supremely worrying.

The possibility had been considered that as an infant he’d seen his soul mate in one of the people tending to him. But at the time of his vision testing, only two people had ever been in his line of sight; the elderly male doctor, and his own mother. (It just went to show how secretive and archaic the Akashi family was, Seijuurou would later muse, that his mother had been forced to have a home-birth in one of the more rural Akashi estates.) There were some horrified, scandalous murmurings that his soul mate would be one of the two, but those were put to bed soon enough. When he was five the elderly doctor, whose soul mate had passed herself long before Seijuurou was born, died as well. Seijuurou’s colors never wavered. Then when he was ten, his mother passed, and still his colors remained.

Thus the rumors were dispelled, and it came to be known to those around him that fate had simply not been kind enough to give Akashi Seijuurou a soul mate.

That was fine for Seijuurou. Soul mates spent their days dreading the day when one of them died, and the other’s world would return to the black and white of before their meeting. What a hindrance that would be, he thought. He’d much rather live out his days in glorious color than experience such a phenomenon.

Besides, he’d seen what such a loss could do to a person. Unlike most arranged marriages of the Akashi family, his parents had been true soul mates. He’d watched his father be reduced to a shadow of his former self, closed-off and cold, in the years since his mother died. If it meant never turning into his father, Seijuurou did not mind being born with colors.

Although he did not mind, and even reveled in his status of not having a soul mate, Seijuurou spent some time researching for other rare cases like his own. He found many. Tales of marriages ending over one spouse finding their soul mate in another, polyamorous soul mates consisting of three partners, one person finding a soul mate who was not their soul mate in return, platonic soul mates destined to be nothing more than friends and never seek romance with each other. Myriads of mishaps and mix-ups that made him all the more glad he did not have one. He hadn’t been able to find any cases exactly like his, mostly just people who lived their lives in black and white without ever having color. If there were others like him, they must have been pretty quiet about it.

It didn’t matter, he decided. He was perfectly fine as he was.

*****

_And, maybe that’s a little strange._

*****

“Akashi-san!  _A-Akashi-san!”_

Seijuurou paused, glancing left. The vending machine dispensed his drink, and he bent to retrieve it as a brown-haired boy wearing a Seirin jersey approached him. He turned, blinking red eyes— _both_  red, his mother’s eyes returned in their entirety once more—and smiled politely but distantly. “Yes? Can I help you?”

The boy blushed, and was beset with sudden nervousness. “Oh, uh, yes, that is…” He looked at the ground, a smile quivering on his lips, before gaining the courage to meet Seijuurou’s gaze. “I-I know that we’re second years now and I probably shouldn’t have waited so long, but-but I couldn’t seem to find a good time during the Winter Cup to approach you…”

Seijuurou listened, keeping up his smile, though he found himself becoming more and more impatient the more the boy rambled.

“So,” the boy finally wrapped up, “this joint practice seemed like the best time to speak to you. I, you,” he looked Seijuurou in the eye, hope glistening in his gaze and in the creases of his smile, “you’re my soul mate.”

Seijuurou blinked as he realized what this boy wanted. He closed his eyes, sighing through his nose. When he opened them the other was still watching him, face too bright and body too jittery, as betrayed by the slight shaking of his hands.

He’d always dreaded such an occasion would arise. He didn’t like that he would have to disappoint this boy (the fact that it  _was_  a boy that had found his colors in Seijuurou didn’t strike him as odd for more than a moment). With his mousey brown hair, small irises, and kind but average face, he was almost woefully normal. He certainly didn’t deserve the let-down Seijuurou would be putting him through.

But Seijuurou would not lie.

“I’m sorry,” the way the boy’s face dropped almost made him pause, “but I don’t have a soul mate.”

The boy was quiet for a moment, the color fading from his face and going straight to his eyes as they gleamed wetly. “But, but you’re my soul mate.” He snatched up the hem of his jersey in his fingers, clenching it until his knuckles were white. “I  _looked_ at you, and there was  _color_.”

Seijuurou shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I know this must be hard to accept, but while I may be your soul mate, you are not mine. I have had my colors for a very long time.”

“Maybe,” he grasped, “maybe you saw me, then, in a crowd somewhere—”

“Since birth,” Seijuurou elaborated, ending the boy’s desperate theories. “I have had my colors since I was born. I do not have a soul mate.” He crossed his arms, looking the other dead in the eye, so there would be no mistaking his words. “And I do not want one.”

“Oh.” The boy’s lips were trembling, Seijuurou noticed. “I see. I’m s-sorry I,” he was backing away, hand half-raised between them, “did-idn’t mean to bother y-you.”

“It’s alright,” Seijuurou said, but the boy had already turned and run away. He watched his back as he rounded the corner, and sighed. He pulled the tab on his drink—coffee, black—and tried to ignore the guilt in his chest.

*****

_But it’s still true._

_I saw you, and I thought, “Ah, him. It’s him.”_

*****

Seijuurou expected to never see the boy again. They’d both said their piece, and while it would certainly be difficult for the other to accept, nothing would change. Perhaps they would catch the occasional glimpse of one another at games or practices, but it was unlikely they would ever converse. From what Seijuurou had gleaned of the boy’s character, it had taken all of his courage to approach him the first time. There would be no second.

He was wrong.

The boy stood outside Rakuzan’s school gates, looking woefully out of his place in his Seirin uniform. He was fiddling with his bag’s strap, flicking his gaze down, up, and around nervously. Seijuurou humored the idea that the boy was there for someone else, but the thought was dashed the moment he looked up and spotted Seijuurou exiting the school.

The boy smiled brightly, his eyes lighting up as he waved a hand in the air. “Akashi-san!”

“Someone you know, Sei-chan?” Mibuchi Reo murmured conspiratorially, voice glinting with humor.

Seijuurou barely spared Reo a glance. “Go on ahead, Reo. I’ll speak with you at practice tomorrow.”

Reo snickered, a lilting, “Yes, yes,” his only response before leaving. Seijuurou approached the boy, who lowered his hand at his coming.

“Is there a reason for your presence here?” Seijuurou wasted no time with pleasantries. “You’ve come quite out of your way to see me.”

His bluntness made the boy flinch, and for a moment it seemed he might run away. But then he looked at Seijuurou straight on, and Seijuurou watched as something made him steel his resolve.  The boy stood up straighter, firming his shoulders. “I wanted to talk to you,” he said.

“You’re not my soul mate,” Seijuurou reminded harshly. Pain flashed across the boy’s face, but he figured it better to try and cut off any delusions before they began.

The boy exhaled loudly, and nodded. “I know. And I know you don’t want one!” he added when Seijuurou opened his mouth. “But…but you’re my soul mate. My colors chose you, and the least I deserve is to know  _why_.” Seeing he had Seijuurou’s slightly surprised attention, the boy’s voice dropped. “I…I mean, I know you don’t want a soul mate. But all I’m asking is that you give me a chance. Date me for three months,” he held up three fingers for emphasis, “and at the end of that, if you still don’t want to be my soul mate, then I’ll leave you alone.”

Seijuurou crossed his arms over his chest, pinning the other with his gaze. “You realize, that even if I am  _technically_  your soul mate, you will never be mine?”

The boy’s lower lip trembled but he nodded.

Seijuurou sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. But you only get one month, not three.”

The boy didn’t appear happy with that, but agreed. “Okay.”

“And at the end, you will drop the subject and leave me be.”

“That’s only if you don’t want to be my soul mate,” he pointed out.

Seijuurou’s lack of reply showed his thoughts on the likelihood of that outcome.

Having made his decision, Seijuurou finally asked, “What’s your name?”

The boy stared at him, and for a moment Seijuurou wondered at the thoughts flickering like fireflies behind his eyes. Then he smiled; a bittersweet thing. “Kouki,” he said gently, “Furihata Kouki.”

*****

_It’s kind of funny. I didn’t know hearts could beat like that, like mine did._

_Like it still does, every time I look at you._

*****

They exchanged phone numbers, naturally. It was annoying at first. Furihata insisted on sending a text every day, even when Seijuurou didn’t reply. They were little things—observations about the day, pictures of things he spotted in his neighborhood, wishes of good luck at practice (which he didn’t need, but he supposed there was meant to be meaning in the gesture).

Within the week, he was surprised to find his opinion shifting. Furihata was oddly observant, and Seijuurou discovered that when some of the pictures Furihata sent would include images of everyday people.

A picture of an old man sweeping the storefront of his flower shop. ‘ _This is Yamada-san,’_  the text said. ‘ _I’ve never talked to him, personally, but I think he’s a widow. He’s always alone. He told my mother his favorite flower is a rose, but he always keeps miniature sunflowers at the front of the store instead, even though they don’t sell well. They must have been the favorite of someone important to him.’_

Seijuurou didn’t need to know things like that. Indeed, the first time he’d gotten one of Furihata’s texts that ran in a similar vein, he’d replied, ‘ _Why would you send me this?’_

_‘Because,_ ’ he’d answered swiftly, as he always did whenever Seijuurou texted him, ‘ _isn’t there something nice about knowing humans are capable of such bonds?’_

_‘I’ve never been interested in such things.’_

_‘That’s…a little sad, Akashi-san.’_

Seijuurou had scoffed, and ended the conversation. But whenever the texts came, he couldn’t stop himself from reading through Furihata’s descriptions. A few times, he caught himself trying to guess what it was about this particular picture that had captured Furihata’s attention before reading the message that followed.

As it was, they didn’t have their first date until they’d been texting for two weeks. It hindsight, it was a smart move on Furihata’s part. If he’d asked too soon, Seijuurou likely would have found an excuse to postpone it. But two weeks proved just long enough to meet his approval.

They ended up meeting in an ice cream parlor on a Saturday. Furihata ordered some sort of sundae that came in a waffle-cone bowl, with nuts and whipped cream and a cherry on top. Chocolate sauce dripped over two scoops of vanilla ice cream.

Seijuurou ordered a cone of mint chocolate chip ice cream, and when it was handed over by a polite waitress Furihata smiled.

“What is it?” he questioned, eyes narrowing.

Furihata shook his head, and turned his attention to his sundae, though his smile never faded. “Nothing. It’s just nice to learn about the things you like.”

Seijuurou blinked, pausing mid-lick. He pursed his lips, and glanced out the window their table sat next to. A vague heat suffused his cheeks. “Something like preferred flavor of ice cream isn’t important.”

“It is,” Furihata disagreed gently.

The subject was dropped, and they returned to eating. Seijuurou watched the obvious happiness Furihata exuded, and was confused. “Are you really so delighted just being around me?”

“Mmhmm, I am.” Furihata took a bite, and pulled his spoon clean from his lips. “I’ve been looking forward to this since we made the plans. I’m sure I annoyed my teammates with how absent minded I was at practices.”

“But you don’t know me,” Seijuurou pointed out.

“I’m  _getting_  to know you,” Furihata responded. He smiled in a way that squinted his eyes, and it might have been the most sincere thing Seijuurou had ever seen.  “That’s pretty amazing for me.”

They chatted about general things after that, school, basketball, touching vaguely on home life. Seijuurou did not like talking about his only living direct family member, and was content to let Furihata tell him about his younger sister, and his parents who had met in university and were soul mates.

They parted after spending three hours together, and Furihata walked with him to the station. He waved as he left, and appeared genuinely sad to see him go. Seijuurou found himself regretting that it had ended so quickly a little bit as well. He’d enjoyed himself more than anticipated.

That night was the first time he got a text reading only, ‘ _Goodnight_.’ He didn’t get them every night, but on the nights he did, his face would soften without him realizing, and he’d reply, ‘ _You as well.’_

*****

_It took every ounce of courage I had to pursue you, but I knew you were worth pursuing._

_And I’m so very glad that I did._

*****

Furihata managed to squeeze three more dates in before the end of the month. They were all fairly common, as Furihata was the type to find romance in the simplest things. A walk in the park, shopping at bookstores, and on their last date, a coffee shop.

But the end of the month did come.

_“Hello?”_  Furihata picked up his phone on the second ring.

“Good afternoon, Furihata-san.” Akashi sat at his desk, leaned back in his chair. He looked to his right, out the window across his room.

_“Akashi-san!”_  The jubilation in his voice was clear, even across a phone line.  _“I wasn’t expecting you to call.”_

“It’s been a month,” he said without preamble. On the other end, there was a sudden stillness.

_“Oh.”_ Furihata’s breathing took on a shaky quality.  _“H-have you made your decision, then?”_

“I have.” Seijuurou tapped his pen on his open text book. “I’m sorry, but my answer is still the same.”

_“I see.”_ Furihata’s words came out thick. Seijuurou wondered if his hands were trembling like they’d been the first time they spoke.  _“I understand. I won’t bother you anymore. Thank you for spending this time with me. I, I re-really,”_ his voice broke, and it took a moment for him to finish the sentence,  _“t-treasure it. Have a ni-ice night.”_

Furihata hung up, and Seijuurou pulled his phone away from his ear. He stared at the screen, displaying the scant two minute time the call had taken.

_He’s crying right now,_  Seijuurou thought, and felt his stomach tighten uncomfortably. He grit his teeth, and set his phone down harder than intended on his desk. He had no reason to feel guilty. He had made it very clear at the start that this was how it would be. He’d spent his whole life certain in the knowledge that a soul mate was not for him. A month with a boy who’d found his colors in Seijuurou wouldn’t change that, or make him start second-guessing himself.

He returned to his studies, certain that his self-doubt would fade quickly enough.

*****

_It was hard for a little while. So hard. But, I know you remember that._

*****

Summer came and went, the Interhighs with it, Rakuzan claiming victory a second year in a row. Seirin, in a close match against Kaijo, had been beaten earlier in the tournament. As such, Seijuurou never saw them outside of that match. He’d spotted Furihata on the bench and in the game, strangely unable to look away. From a distance something had seemed off about the other boy, but that same distance kept him from being able to determine exactly what.

With a shake of his head, he’d forced himself to ignore it. He had no reason to be checking on Furihata. (It was the same line he told himself almost every day, when he found himself checking his phone for text messages about people he’d never met, and scrolling through their old conversations.)

It was ridiculous. One month of dating shouldn’t have had such a lasting effect. They’d dated in the end of April and in May, and he was still thinking about him months and months later. But Seijuurou would not change his mind—not until an agreed upon joint practice in October, the first since the one where they’d met.

Seijuurou hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. He hadn’t even known there was anyone else outside the gymnasium. He’d only paused before rounding the corner to the vending machine, hearing voices and a name.

“We’re not upset with you, Furi, we’re just worried.”

It took a moment for him to identify the voice, but he placed it as one of the members of Seirin whose names he hadn’t bothered learning.

“I know you are, Kawahara.” That voice Seijuurou had no trouble figuring out. The last time he’d heard it it was on the verge of tears. The tired, wispy quality it carried now didn’t sound much better. “And I keep telling you, you don’t need to worry.”

“That’s a lie,” Kawahara cut in sharply. “You’ve been acting this way for months. Ever since your soul mate ditched you—which I still don’t understand. I thought you said you’d been doing well.”

“That’s what  _I_  thought too.” Furihata’s voice lowered, tinged with a note of sorrow. “Look, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Can, can we just—not bring it up?”

“We could,” Kawahara said, “if you weren’t regressing again. I thought you were doing better, but the moment coach announced this practice you went right back to how you were before Interhigh. Your soul mate is someone in Rakuzan, isn’t it? I know you said it was a guy…”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Furihata repeated pointedly.

“I know, I know.” There was a sound like someone sitting against the wall. “But maybe you need to? I was thinking…maybe one of those RPA support groups wouldn’t be so bad?”

“You want me to join the  _Rejected Soul Mates Club?_ ”

The RPA, or Repudiated Partners Association, was an organization dedicated to the support and well-being of those whose soul mates weren’t so receptive to their attentions, and helped them move on and learn to accept what this meant for their lives from then on. Unfortunately, due to pride, and at times shame, many were reluctant to take advantage of its services—and had gained it the ill-reputed moniker of the ‘Rejected Soul Mates Club.’

“I know you don’t want to,” Kawahara soothed, “but just think about it? Who knows, maybe you’ll meet someone there like you, and you’ll hit it off.”

Seijuurou heard Furihata sigh. “The RPA isn’t a matchmaking service, Kawahara-kun.”

“I know. I’m saying, maybe.”

A soreness in his palm made Seijuurou aware that he’d been squeezing his hands into fists, and his nails had begun cutting into his skin as he’d gripped tighter and tighter. Inexplicably frustrated, Seijuurou turned on his heel and went back to the gymnasium without ever alerting the two Seirin players of his presence.

It didn’t matter. He didn’t  _need_  a soul mate. (But it was getting harder and harder to say he didn’t  _want_  one.)

*****

_There was a piece of me that refused to give up on you. That kept me checking my phone for messages that weren’t coming._

*****

Seijuurou was surprised when his father summoned him to his office. They spoke so rarely as it was, and only in passing. That he’d seek Seijuurou out purposefully was unprecedented.

Akashi Masajirou was a middle-aged man with red hair long turned gray at the temples. His stern face was an older copy of Seijuurou’s own, but not his eyes. Masajirou’s eyes, slate gray and sharp, were nothing like the burning red of the deceased wife that had passed them on to Seijuurou. As a whole, Masajirou was not a bad man. His expectations were the same as any parent. He wanted Seijuurou to do well in school, to stay out of trouble, and make good associations. There were, of course, pressures from being a member of the Akashi family, but those were comparatively minimal, and Seijuurou couldn’t say that they were anything he couldn’t easily handle now that he was older. (In Teikou he hadn’t been as mentally equipped to shoulder the burden, and it had led to some consequences that, while unfortunate, he couldn’t bring himself to regret.)

But Seijuurou had often found himself wishing his father were more demanding. That he’d yell at him, or check in on him personally to make sure his son was meeting his standards. At least then Seijuurou could have told himself his father felt  _something_  for him.

However, Akashi Masajirou was not the kind of man to ever express such things, so Seijuurou was often left in the dark on the matter.

“I have heard that you are behaving strangely,” Masajirou commented levelly.

Seijuurou stood stiffly before his father’s desk, and maintained eye contact. “In what way?”

“The servants have been gossiping that you are acting…colder. And you have been refusing meals.”

“I was simply not hungry.”

“Hm.” Masajirou seemed unconvinced. He weaved his fingers together on top of his desk. “You can be honest with me, Seijuurou.”

And maybe because the situation was so novel, or because there was something in him that still wanted to connect to his father, he asked a question. “What was it like, whenever you were separated from mother for long periods of time?”

In an instant Masajirou’s icy demeanor cracked, and the look he gave Seijuurou was nearly a glare. “Why do you wish to know?”

_Because she’s my mother_ , he wanted to say, but didn’t. “It is…relevant.”

Masajirou tightened his jaw, and sat back. “It was,” he paused, “difficult.”

“How so?”

Masajirou watched his son’s face, and twisted the gold band he still wore on his ring finger. “I would think about her every day, no matter how long the separation. I would see her in everything I did, and in everything I had.” His eyes locked with Seijuurou’s, and something vulnerable creeped in. “I still do.”

Seijuurou closed his eyes—his mother’s eyes, he was reminded—and tried to tell himself he wasn’t being petty for hiding them. “I do not have a soul mate.”

“I know this.” The vulnerability was gone, and Seijuurou reopened his eyes. “You were born with your colors.”

Seijuurou nodded. “But, there is someone who has found their soul mate in me.”

Masajirou studied him carefully. “And what do you plan to do about this?”

And Seijuurou answered honestly once more, “I don’t know.”

*****

_And I nearly gave up._

*****

The RPA held their meetings once a month, and some light research revealed that the chapter in Furihata’s neighborhood held theirs on the eighth. October’s meeting had come and gone, and so Seijuurou knew that if Furihata planned to attend one, it would be the November meeting. That fact clung to the back of his mind and reminded him every day that if he was going to be selfish, he had to do it soon, before Furihata could resolve to move on without him.

But for the first time in his life, Seijuurou had no idea what to do. Usually there were options, contingencies he could work off of. Even in his worst moments, he’d had some semblance of a plan. But as the eighth grew closer and closer, it felt like his mind was growing blanker and blanker. Finally, it wasn’t until the morning of the meeting itself that he threw caution to the wind.

Taking the train wasn’t anything difficult, but the long distance left him with more time than he’d have liked to imagine the ways things could go wrong. As he stepped out of the station, checking his phone to make sure he had the address, he passed by a shop in the more commercial area bordering the residential that made him pause.

An old man swept the storefront, miniature sunflowers set out on display. The man stopped his sweeping as he noticed Seijuurou, and smiled in a way that made his face seem like a crinkled newspaper. “Can I help you, young man?” he asked kindly, with a slight warble.

Seijuurou pat the pocket of his capris, checking for the familiar lump of his wallet. “Yes,” he finally confirmed. “Could I get a bouquet of roses?”

“Why of course. Roses happen to be my favorite.” The man set the broom aside and waved Seijuurou forward, holding open the door of the shop. “My name is Yamada Shuichi, and I’d be happy to serve you.”

Seijuurou smiled, and didn’t mention that he’d already known who he was. “Pleased to meet you. I am Akashi Seijuurou,” he introduced. Before entering, he added, “Could I get some miniature sunflowers in the bouquet as well?”

Yamada’s eyes lit up, and he took on a new air of joy. “That’s an unusual combination, but I’m sure I can make it work.” Yamada puttered around the shop, getting the things he needed to prepare the bouquet. “You know, those miniature sunflowers were my wife’s favorite…”

*****

_But I waited for you._

*****

The Furihata residence was utterly normal. An average home, with a small yard, and two stories. It was almost an exact replica of the one beside it, but there were some small differences that set it apart. The first was the nameplate, obviously. The second was the garish color of the drapes in the front window. Cloth shouldn’t come in mustard yellow.

Seijuurou approached and knocked on the door, unusually nervous. His palms were going to start sweating any moment, and the bouquet felt more and more ridiculous the longer he held it. Before he could begin talking himself into leaving, the door opened. But it wasn’t Furihata’s mother or father, as he’d expected.

“Yes, can I help—” Furihata froze as he locked gazes with Seijuurou. “Akashi-san. Wh-what are you doing here?”

“I came to speak with you,” he answered.

Furihata frowned with desperate confusion, but waved him inside. “We can, um, talk in my room.”

“Are your parents not home?” Seijuurou wondered, following Furihata up the stairs after removing his shoes.

“They’re out having dinner with my sister,” he explained. “They really wanted me to come along, but Mom was expecting a package, and I didn’t much feel like going out anyway, so…” He shrugged. “They said they’d bring me back some cake.”

Seijuurou nodded, though as he was leading the way, Furihata didn’t see it. As they walked, Seijuurou took the chance to look Furihata over. Up close, he could spot what had been niggling at him since he’d last seen Furihata in Seirin’s match against Kaijou during the Interhigh. “Have you been eating properly?”

Furihata’s shoulders tensed. “I’m fine.”

That didn’t answer his question, but at the same time did. Seijuurou pursed his lips as they entered Furihata’s room, the other sitting immediately on the edge of his bed and tucking his arms across his stomach.

“What did you need?” he asked, and finally took notice of the bouquet. “Are those flowers?”

Seijuurou nodded, and thrust them into Furihata’s arms. “For you.”

“Eh? But, I don’t understand…” Furihata blinked at the blossoms. “Wait, these are miniature sunflowers, and roses? Aren’t these from Yamada-san’s shop?”

“They are.”

“But why would you…! Akashi-san, I don’t understand.” Furihata looked at him desperately. “You-you said such things didn’t interest you! And you _remembered_.”

“I was wrong.”

Furihata stared at him, eyes glazed with shock. He began shaking his head. “No. No, no, no.” He set the flowers aside, and stood up, poking Seijuurou’s chest. “You aren’t allowed to do that. I  _listened_  to your demands. I left you alone. You can’t just come here and get my hopes up like this if you aren’t  _serious—_ ”

He was cut off by Seijuurou’s lips, on his. Seijuurou buried his hand in the hair at the back of Furihata’s head, the other slipping around to cradle his lower back. When he pulled away, Furihata’s face was slack.

“Who says I’m not serious?” Seijuurou demanded.

Furihata’s eyes began to gleam wetly. “You mean that?”

Seijuurou nodded. “You may not be able to be my soul mate,” he said, “but I’ll be yours.”

Furihata laughed weakly, a sound more like relief than humor. “Okay.”

Seijuurou pulled him close, and kissed him again. “So you won’t go to any RPA meetings?”

Furihata frowned. “I won’t…I had been considering next month’s, but hadn’t planned to go to today’s in the first place.”

“You weren’t?”

He shook his head. “Of course not! Not today of all days!”

“Oh.” Seijuurou blinked. “What’s today?”

Furihata scoffed at him. “It’s my birthday.”

Seijuurou’s eyes widened. “Ah.” He kissed him again. “Happy birthday.”

This time when Furihata laughed, it sang in Seijuurou’s bones.

*****

_How sly you were, to win me over with a kiss._

_Not that I’m complaining, really._

_…I guess I just wish a kiss would work here, too._

*****

One kiss turned to two, and two to twenty, in much the same way that one month of dating suddenly turned to one lifetime.

Seijuurou would have liked to say it was easy, but that would have been a lie. And in the many decades to follow, he’d made it a point that lies were not accepted in their relationship. When they announced that they were a couple, Furihata’s friends had been a challenge to win over. They’d seen the way Furihata had crumbled at Seijuurou’s rejection, and hadn’t been quick to let him forget that. Not that he blamed them.

And through high school and college and beyond they grew and changed and evolved together. From ‘Akashi-san’ to ‘Akashi-kun’ to ‘Seijuurou.’ From ‘Furihata-san’ to ‘Furihata’ to ‘Kouki.’

Love wasn’t something Seijuurou had ever anticipated falling into. But he had, and he’d done so with no regrets. Not even when Kouki would bring him coffee with milk, instead of black. It wasn’t a big deal, and Seijuurou never corrected him.

He had more important things to worry about. Like how he’d get Kouki to sigh his name that night.

*****

_And you know what I found out recently? You’ve never liked milk in your coffee, you sneak!_

_…I’m sorry. I know it must be hard. I just want you to smile._

_I_ hope _you’re smiling._

*****

Seijuurou was quite healthy for a man in his retirement. His hair was streaked heavily with gray, and many a wrinkle had taken up at the corners of his eyes, but everything worked properly, and that in itself was a blessing.

But at a time like this, it didn’t feel like a blessing.

The heart monitor blipped beside the bed, and Seijuurou held fragile hands in his. Kouki’s fingers had always been a bit slim, but with time his skin had become thin as well, and it was possible to trace the veins in his palm. It was something Seijuurou had been doing a lot in the past few years, and according to Kouki it was comforting.

Kouki stirred awake in the bed, and blinked tired eyes at Seijuurou. “Who are you?” he asked. Then he looked closer, and his face lit with wonder. “Oh. You’re my soul mate.”

Seijuurou nodded. “I am. My name is Seijuurou.”

“Seijuurou,” Kouki breathed wondrously. He laughed breathily. “You’re my soul mate,” he repeated, like he’d never say it enough. “And I’m yours.”

It would have been an easy thing to lie. In this state, Kouki would have believed it, and perhaps it would have been kinder. But they’d never lied in their relationship, and he wasn’t going to start now.

“No.” He shook his head. “I’m not your soul mate. I was born with my colors.”

“What?” The dejection in that word shot ice in Seijuurou’s heart. For a moment he felt like he should apologize, but that would be ridiculous. Seijuurou had never regretted being born with his colors before, and he still didn’t now.

He held tight to Kouki’s hand when he tried to pull it away. “But that doesn’t mean anything,” he insisted. “Because I  _chose_  you, and we have lived our lives together for over fifty years.”

Kouki’s lower lip trembled, his eyes misty. “You mean that?”

Seijuurou reached out, and stroked his hand over Kouki’s cheek. He traced wrinkles like they were sentences from his favorite book, and he had them all memorized. “I’ve never lied to you.”

Kouki sobbed, and pressed his face into Seijuurou’s palm. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

When Kouki next fell asleep, Seijuurou kissed his palm. “I wish,” he breathed, “that I could send my colors with you.”

*****

_All these years, and I’m still finding out new things about you. I wonder, should that make me so happy?_

*****

Any moment, now. Seijuurou didn’t know how he knew, but he did. He knew it in the same way he knew that Kouki liked it when he pet his hair, or that cold weather made his knees ache even though he never said anything. He knew. And he would have given anything to be wrong.

But he wasn’t. And a minute later, when the heart monitor screeched a flat line that would soon send doctors rushing in, Seijuurou kept his eyes closed.

He didn’t want to see color in a world without Kouki.

*****

_I hope_ you’re _still happy. I never wanted to burden you with this. Never wanted you to hurt._

*****

 A hand was laid on his shoulder. “I’m sorry for your loss, Akashi-san.”

Seijuurou exhaled shakily. He raised his head, summoning every ounce of courage he had to open his eyes. And in that moment learned what it felt like to choke on his own heart.

“They’re gone,” he exclaimed.

“I’m sorry?” The doctor was befuddled.

“My colors. They’re gone.”

“Ah.” The doctor nodded, smiling with as much sympathy as he could. “Yes. That’s normal, when a soul mate passes.”

Slowly, Seijuurou began to laugh. And then, he began to sob.

*****

_I love you._

*****

Akashi Seijuurou was born knowing that fate had not assigned him a soul mate.

Seijuurou had never been the kind of person to allow anything to make decisions for him, never mind fate. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t  _choose_  a soul mate for himself, or that fate hadn’t helpfully nudged a quivering boy with the sweetest smile his way for consideration. Seijuurou had merely accepted the offer.

That didn’t make it any less his  _choice_.

*****

_So, so much._

*****

“What color are these roses?”

“Red,” Seijuurou answered, wiping soil from his hands to his knees. “Not that I can see it. I just remember.” He stood from the flower beds, and turned. “Though I’m not sure why you’re asking, since you can’t see it either, Kuroko.”

Kuroko nodded greeting. “Sorry I let myself in, Akashi-kun, but I don’t think you heard when I knocked.”

“It’s fine.” He waved his guest to the table on the back patio, where a worn, folded piece of paper and a cold cup of tea sat waiting. Seijuurou carefully moved the paper and tea to the side, and gestured for Kuroko to sit across.

He did so slowly, joints giving him some trouble, and observed Seijuurou in that quiet way he’d never grown out of. “So, it’s true. You really did lose your colors.”

Seijuurou hummed quietly. “Just like you, when Kagami passed.”

Kuroko sighed. “I want to tell you it gets easier. But I can’t.”

“I know.” He rubbed a corner of the folded paper between his fingers.

Kuroko placed a small, wrinkled hand atop Seijuurou’s. “You can always talk to me.”

He smiled a bit. “Thank you.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon amicably, reminiscing old times and discussing new ones. The topic of colors and soul mates was left alone, and when Kuroko left Seijuurou could say it was with a lighter heart. After seeing his guest off, he reseated himself at the patio table and picked up the folded paper. He opened it gently, and read again the letter Kouki had left for him, written before the disease had taken too much of his mind, and hidden away to be found after he was gone.

*****

_We’ll meet again. I’m your soul mate, aren’t I? I just know I am, even if you’ve never said it._

_We’ll meet again, so you can tell me, okay?_

*****

Of course they’d meet again, somewhere, somehow. They had to.

After all, he had something to say, and Kouki needed to give him his colors back.

(And seven years later, after his heart  _thump-thump-thump_ ed its way to silence while he slept in their bed, they did.)

*****

_And the time between now and then may seem far away._

_But when it comes, I’m sure you’ll find that it hasn’t been long at all._


End file.
